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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547129">Possibilities</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenStorm87/pseuds/ForgottenStorm87'>ForgottenStorm87</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gundam Wing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Casual Sex, F/M, Falling In Love, Lemon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:40:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,784</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenStorm87/pseuds/ForgottenStorm87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He was an acceptable temptation of a substitute for her earlier quarry waiting for someone to sample all he had to offer…</p><p>"Perhaps neither of us need leave this party alone afterall…"</p><p>She adjusted herself, smoothed the skirt of her long black dress, and made her way over to him, confident that before the end of the night, Trowa Barton would be hers.</p><p>The victorious grin on her face was that of the cat that ate the canary. Trowa watched her figure appreciatively as he followed behind her. This wasn't what he'd planned, but then, what was the harm in embracing other possibilities…?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Relena Peacecraft/Heero Yuy, Sylvia Noventa/Quatre Raberba Winner, Trowa Barton/Dorothy Catalonia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">Chapter 1</span>
</p><p>The tea lights strung about the gables and the greenery of the terrace gathering set an ethereal glow like a miniature fairy land within the confines of the Darlian mansion’s expansive garden. Soft music from the small orchestra danced through the air setting a truly whimsical tone as the party guests mingled and socialized amongst themselves. It was picturesque. It was perfect. It was…</p><p>“Boring.” She muttered to herself as she swiped another glass of champagne off a passing tray. </p><p>When she had accepted the young Vice Foreign Minister’s invite to the gala she had thought some excitement might be available, after all, the younger blonde’s unspoken relationship with her bodyguard never failed to thrill Dorothy in the classic ‘will they, won’t they’ story arc. The sexual tension that oozed off of the former princess and her stoic protector was positively delicious. Even now, they carried on in their secret courtship, blissfully ignorant to the other’s true intention. Heero pulled her seat out for her and ushered her to it, his hand in the small of her back. The smile Relena gave him was positively sickening as the young diplomat’s eyes seemed to shine only for him. The small upturn of his lips in response would have gone unnoticed by most but to Dorothy, it said all that they dared not. She thought many times of making a bet with the braided man she had come to know as Duo Maxwell as to when or even if the two would swallow their pride and drop the pretenses to finally cross the line. The wager would certainly make things more interesting than the current situation. Even the champaign, rich vintage though it was, was doing little to improve her mood.</p><p>”Such a waste.” She swirled the opaque liquid in the crystal flute. She made her way slowly and carefully around the room and picked up on various bits of gossip (some of which was about her) but she could use most of it to her advantage should the occasion to do so arise. </p><p>“Did you hear the former Earl and Devonshire is seeing the daughter of his business partner?” One of the women whose perfume of hibiscus and lavender was far too thick whispered to her companion, a woman who clearly seemed to take fashion lessons from a blind man. </p><p>“No! Such a scandal! And she, young enough to be his grandchild!” Dorothy’s lips curled up ever so slightly; partly in disgust at their own impertinence and partly from the richness of the news. </p><p>The rest of the information proved rather droll by comparison and unimpressive: plans for the summer, secret crushes and romantic failures. Most of these trivial details would hardly be worth her consideration, but nevertheless, satiated her current restless state. Afterall, her real reason for coming had made himself relatively scarce, no doubt dodging the throng of hopeful females daring to dream of catching his eye. </p><p>The tabloids declared Quatre Rebarba Winner was the "most eligible, handsome bachelor under the age of forty!" Dorothy cringed at the thought of how many hopeful women-each of them shallow, uppity, contestants- had so far vied for his attention only to find that they hardly stood a chance. The way they all swooned whenever he walked into the room was as positively...</p><p>“Pathetic.” She sneered and took another sip, letting the sting of the bubbles tickle her throat. ‘A few more of these and perhaps I will be the one acting the fool.’  </p><p>Quatre’s social standing meant about as much to Dorothy as his Wealth, which was to say, nothing at all. Being the only heir to the Catalonia estate, she hardly needed to fortune hunt; but hunt she did, in a sense. Dorothy fancied herself a bit of a thrill-seeker; always looking for the next thing to hold her interest and entertain her long enough to find out what had been so fascinating about her quarry in the first place just to turn and look for another treasure to pursue shortly following. She was not one to be told no. She took what she wanted when she wanted it be it horses, fashion, or even men. </p><p>'And quite the man he's turned out to be,' she mused.</p><p>In the five years since the war, the blonde Arabian had sprouted up to a tantalizing, lean five-feet-eleven-inch man built for action but dressed to impress. His sun-kissed skin was far darker than her own, a chestnut to her alabaster and his cool, blue-green eyes always shone with a kindness and sincerity that earned the trust of any and all fortunate enough to earn his gaze. There was a sinful part of her that longed to test just how good and pure the blond Arabian truly was… How fun it would be to play with the possibility of finding his darker side...</p><p>Of course, there were rumors that the heir to the Winner Corporation was not interested in the fairer sex but this failed to detour the many women who all but threw themselves at him regularly. In truth, the Winner heir had rarely been seen with a woman outside his family or immediate circle of friends and instead was spotted quite frequently with his male compatriots. It did give one pause...</p><p>“It would be a shame.” She stated to herself again and sighed, stroking one of her long brows. “Such a gorgeous man… so many possibilities…” </p><p>As if summoned by her thoughts, the object of her intentions walked out onto the terrace, Relena to his left, flanked immediately by her ever present shadow. To his right, a dark-haired blonde woman with violet eyes, both smiling and laughing at a joke clearly uttered before leaving the ballroom. Her grip tightened dangerously on the fragile flute, eyes narrowed and lips pressed thin. </p><p>“That little minx.” Dorothy sneered. How dare Silvia Noventa be so presumptuous as to try and make a move on him! The look in his eyes as he stared at Silvia made an unfamiliar feeling pool in the pit of Dorothy’s stomach.</p><p>'Could this be… disappointment? Regret?' </p><p>No. She was Dorothy Catalonia. Such things were simply not part of who she was. She would wait it out. Someone like Silvia could not possibly hold his attention for long and when he finally tired of her, Dorothy would swoop in and make her own move…</p><p>The hours ticked by as though covered in molasses and she had long since switched from the golden ambrosia of champagne for a richer, harsher beverage. He was still with Silvia. They had been dancing, talking, laughing all evening. They looked happy. They looked well-suited… 'They looked good together.' Dorothy thought, bitterly. She sighed.</p><p>"Well, it would appear as though this evening has been a complete waste of my time." She muttered, determined to say her goodbyes to her hostess and make her grand exit… and then she noticed <em> him </em>.</p><p>He was deliciously tall - had to be more than a couple of inches over six feet.  Dorothy tried to recollect the last time she looked at the boy...man that seemed to accompany the wealthy, aristocratic Mr. Winner - like he was some kind of beautiful mongrel on a fine leather leash.</p><p>“He would look good in leather..,” Dorothy thought and swirled the Kentucky bourbon in her glass. </p><p>Sometime in the past few years, the circus performer and acrobat had started filling out that suit in ways that made it look good despite the cheap cut and obviously poor fabric. His toasted almond hair still covered one of his emerald eyes obscuring it from her view. But the crude style couldn’t hide his chiseled jawline and surprisingly fine features: an almost regal nose and a thin, wiry neck. </p><p>“He looks...strong.” She took a swig of the bourbon, delighting in the harsh, tangy flavor. Her mouth began to water as she let her gaze wander...down the broad line of his chest to the tighter band at his waist. </p><p>She shook her head. “It’d be a complete waste for a man like that to be the object of—“ she saw him tilt his head, as if he was watching something - or someone. Dorothy couldn’t help but pivot in her seat... She glanced back at Trowa, trying to draw a line with her eyes.... But the only thing that appeared to be in the right vicinity was...</p><p>“Oh!” Dorothy couldn’t stop the grin from forming on her face. “My my.” She watched as Relena danced in the arms of her faithful protector; and glanced back at Trowa. He had grabbed one of the fine cognacs - designed to be sipped - that the waiters were toting about on large platters - as a digestif. He swirled it once, before promptly downing it in one gulp. Trowa’s one visible eyebrow pinched downward; he grimaced, glanced around the room - then settled his gaze back in the direction of the Vice Foreign Minister.</p><p>“Well, he’s definitely not gay for Mr. Winner.” She smiled around her glass as she took another sip of her bourbon. "And there no chance he takes the beloved Foreign Minister to bed…" she swirled the liquid in her glass absentmindedly.</p><p>He was an acceptable temptation of a substitute for her earlier quarry waiting for someone to sample all he had to offer…</p><p>"Perhaps neither of us need leave this party alone afterall…"</p><p>She adjusted herself, smoothed the skirt of her long black dress, and made her way over to him, confident that before the end of the night, Trowa Barton would be hers.</p>
<hr/><p>Trowa tugged at the collar of his white button up shirt and yanked the tie loose, letting it fall onto a nearby chair. He never liked these sorts of events. The suit he wore had been picked out for him by Quatre years ago for a banquet honoring all who fought in the final battle of the Eve Wars. Though his blond friend selected it, Trowa had insisted on paying for it himself. It was not the highest quality, but then neither was he by the standards of the majority of people attending the party. </p><p>Quatre had insisted that he attend Relena’s gala despite knowing the difficulty of such a task for the stoic former Heavyarms pilot. </p><p>
  <em> "Come on, Trowa." Quatre pressed. Trowa had just finished his last routine for the night and wanted nothing more than to bury himself in a bottle of scotch before slipping into the abyss of unconsciousness that inevitably followed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I'd rather not." Trowa glared at his friend through the vid-screen in annoyance.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You have to leave the circus again some time. You can't hide away forever." Trowa strangled a groan of frustration.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "You know I can't. More to the point, you know why." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Trowa…" the sympathy in the blond man's eyes made him want to punch something. Ever since Heero returned and took over Relena's security Trowa had remained at the circus and rarely left. He had no desire to socialize and even less to do so at an occasion that would place him within her vicinity.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It wasn't as though he lacked companionship. The circus was his family; full of vibrancy, variety and life. Being the star attraction of the acrobatics routine had its benefits as well. Women were plenty: groupies and fans would stay the night and indulge in some casual fun just to be gone and replaced after the next show. It was the sort of life some men would dream of… fame, freedom, beautiful women throwing themselves at him… but they weren't her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Trowa ran a frustrated hand through his bangs and sighed. "What time should I be there?" Quatre smiled and told him all of the plans and Trowa listened, hoping he hadn't made a terrible mistake... </em>
</p><p>That was how he found himself on Relena's terrace of her garden at her family home. Of course, the Winner heir found himself fortunate to be in the company of a lovely young woman that was a mutual acquaintance of Relena's. Silvia Noventa had changed much since their initial meeting during Heero's search for penance over the deaths of the Alliance leaders. The young woman was radiant in her own right with an intelligence and charm that would bespell anyone. Quatre had been the lucky soul she had evidently bewitched.</p><p>Meanwhile, he found that the endless supply of drinks did little to improve his own situation. The lights and the music couldn’t distract from the way her sleeveless, blue evening gown clung to her delicate curves. Her hair was half up in a sort of twist that allowed the curls of silken honey to kiss one of her slender shoulders and left her elegant neck exposed. How many times during those long nights of guard duty had he wished for just one opportunity to run his fingers through her soft tresses and kiss the creamy skin currently left exposed to the evening air…?</p><p>He shifted his focus as a server walked by with a tray of cognac. He detested the liquid, but it seemed to ease his mind and calm his nerves in light of the fact that the woman he desired was as unavailable to him as the stars above. It was no secret and any who knew the Vice Foreign Minister that she only had eyes for one man: Heero Yuy. The fact that Heero, too, seemed to love the young politician was not unnoticed either as their friends had tried for years to get the two to admit their feelings and finally become the couple they were meant to be. Trowa both envied and hated his friend. Relena was the sort of woman any man fantasized about. The years had been kind to her taking her from the awkward young girl she had once been and molded and shaped her into the regal leader respected by many and loved by nearly all. He was no exception. And yet Heero refused to make the move that desperately needed made and claim the woman that held both of their hearts captive. </p><p>As he watched the former pilot of Wing Zero twirl the princess around the floor, he felt the need to drown the emptiness in his gut with more of the acrid libation. He had already consumed more than he should have but if there was a chance that one more could quell the ache then drink he would. He downed the glass in one long gulp and felt his eyebrows pinch as the burn seared down his throat once more. </p><p>"Cognac goes down much smoother if sipped gradually, you know." A feathery voice, soft and feminine came from behind him. He turned to address her and paused at the sight that greeted him.</p><p>Dorothy Catalonia had always been what most would consider an attractive woman with a strange allure that boarded on dangerous. Her grey-blue eyes glinted with mischievous intelligence and her pert lips seemed to be fixed in an ever-present condescending sneer. Her eyebrows were as long as ever and still ended in that obscene forked style and yet, for some reason…</p><p>'They suit her.' He mused.</p><p>Perhaps it was the cognac raising his blood alcohol content, but he found them less creepy and more a unique oddity. Her long, platinum hair was left down, held back only by an ornate headband of glittering jewels. His eyes couldn't help but roam down her figure. Dorothy had always been slender with curves in all the right places, but time had added a bit to them in the most agreeable way. Her black dress may as well have been a second skin: shoulderless, backless, and with a dangerously low neckline that left little to the imagination. And a slit was placed on either side of the gown allowing for the pallid skin of her long legs to be tantalizingly glimpsed through the midnight fabric. </p><p>His gaze clearly had not gone unnoticed by his new companion. She, too, seemed to be sizing him up like a prized steer at auction, ready to be sold to the highest bidder. He let her look, not missing the haze of lust that had begun to swirl in her eyes. </p><p>"Miss Catalonia." He greeted her with a nod. A smile curled onto her lips, dark pink and devious. </p><p>"Trowa Barton." She returned. "How long has it been?" Trowa held back a scoff. The first and last time he had remembered meeting Dorothy had been less than pleasant.</p><p>"I believe it was several years ago when you decided to use Quatre as your personal pin cushion." He quipped. Her eyes widened a bit before her brow furrowed and her lips formed a mock pout.</p><p>"Oh dear, must we dredge up such unpleasant memories on such a lovely evening?" He shrugged and turned from her, wishing for another glass of cognac…</p><p>"You asked." </p><p>"How right you are." She returned, patronizing him. Something about the way she swirled the bourbon in her glass was so… enticing. </p><p>"What do you want?" His question might have seemed rude, but he was too many drinks in to care how she took it.</p><p>"Whatever do you mean?" She batted her long lashes. "Can I not come to make conversation with an old acquaintance?" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. After a moment, she dropped the act, lips curling into a seductive smirk.</p><p>"Very well, you've got me!" She locked eyes with him, grey-blue to emerald in a serious stare. He quirked up a brow. "I can see the object of your affections is as unavailable to you as mine is to me." His eyes widened in surprise. He wasn't sure how she knew and he didn't know how to feel about her unsettling insight. </p><p>"Therefore…" she made her way closer to him slowly and he couldn't help but notice the way the fabric moved with her hips as she did so. His eyes went to the slit in the skirt once more. "I'd like to propose a remedy for our little predicament." She continued. </p><p>"And that would be?" She closed the distance between them, circling him slightly as one slender finger traced it's way up his arm, around his shoulders and then to his collarbone. </p><p>"We can keep one other company… Ease the ache to our mutual benefit."</p><p>"Are you propositioning me?" </p><p>"Perhaps…" She let out a sultry laugh and leaned in. "I'd like to think I'm seducing you."</p><p>He sucked in a breath as he felt her lips graze his ear… her warm breath on his neck… her soft breasts on his arm… His slacks were now on the verge of uncomfortable...</p><p>"I thought someone like me would be beneath you." He struggled to keep his wits but the alcohol mixed poorly with her proximity for him to build his resistance.</p><p>"Not yet." She breathed, "but you could be…" He felt her fingers trail down from his collarbone to the band of his cummerbund. </p><p>His eyes flicked briefly to the spot where Relena sat tellingly close to Heero as she laughed with Quatre and Silvia. Dorothy had a point and between the cognac and the blood thrumming through his veins he found the prospect of what she offered just tempting enough. 'What the hell?' He figured as he turned to her.</p><p>"Lead the way." The victorious grin on her face was that of the cat that ate the canary. Trowa watched her figure appreciatively as he followed behind her. This wasn't what he'd planned, but then, what was the harm in embracing other possibilities…?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Morning After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Trowa wakes up and questions all of his life's choices... but for good or for bad...?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Chapter 2</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The heat of the morning sun blazed through the only gap that seemed to somehow exist in the large, thick curtain covering the window. Smooth satin complimented the pillow top mattress beneath him but did little to stop the effects of his behavior the night before. Trowa Barton raised a hand to his face to block it out wishing he could do the same to the throbbing pain that currently besieged his head. “Damn…” Through the haze of the hangover he began to recall the events of the previous evening with surprising clarity and a touch of disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had slept with Dorothy Catalonia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, ‘slept’ implied rest. There had been very little of that. He groaned and looked at the bedside clock: 9AM. If he had been at the circus, he would have been up far earlier than that to tend to the animals and check the equipment for the high wire act. But he wasn’t. He was, presumably, in one of the guest bedrooms at the Darlian estate where he had stumbled in rather carelessly with the platinum blonde woman the night before. He didn’t need to look to know that his former bed partner had left. Last night had been unexpected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely not what I’d planned.” Not that he was complaining. He groaned, feeling the effects of their wild night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hands began to roam before the door had even been fully shut. Her lips meshed with his in one searing kiss after another that set his entire body aflame. Clumsy, alcohol hindered fingers fumbled with buttons and zippers as the temptation to rip and tear was all too real. He had no idea of how or when they made it to the bed, but he remembered her pushing him down onto it where the exploration continued. Her manicured nails dragged down his exposed, sculpted chest.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Impressive.” Her velvety voice cooed out as she continued her ministrations, dragging her fingers down to his pants.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He gazed up in complete perplexed wonder at the vixen atop him. Her eyes flashed with the same lustful need he too possessed and he found himself unable to resist as she made quick work of his zipper. He raised his hips to allow the removal of his boxers and pants and felt quite the bit of pride by the expression of approval on her face. She had taken full control of the situation but he didn’t care and as her hot tongue began to dance on his shaft he felt his hips buck nearly of their own accord. He watched as she took him in, down her throat, bobbing seductively as she massaged his sacs playfully. It was torture of the most initmate nature and he was powerless under her ministrations.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally, when he felt himself on the verge of release, the little temptress pulled away and ‘tsked’ at him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not so fast, my little clown. We have the whole night to play and I intend on doing so.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At that point, he found her crawling up the length of his body where she smashed her lips to his in another fiery kiss. She pulled back, leaving both panting for air as she stared into his emerald eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Your turn.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Somehow, he understood her meaning. He effortlessly flipped her over so that he hovered above her and lavished her neck with kisses. Her breasts just begged for his attention and he was all too willing to oblige. He licked and sucked taking time to give equal treatment to the sensitive mounds before beginning to trail kisses on her creamy skin on his way down… Finding his way to the treasure between her thighs he grinned at her. With one hand, he began to massage the tender skin of her inner thigh, walking his fingers up to their moist target, his tongue still caressing the sensitive skin...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The other hand continued to massage her breast as his lips found the bud at the top. He licked it slowly at first, hearing her moan in response. Encouraged by her pleasure, he quickened the pace of his tongue, his fingers now finding the entrance, sopping wet and ready for stimulation. He smirked and inserted one finger to start, feeling her squirm underneath him. As her panting and moaning increased, he inserted another, stretching her slowly and carefully with practiced ease. He felt her hands in his hair as she massaged his scalp, and glanced up to see her biting her lower lip. She was too close, it was too soon and two could play her twisted game. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He pulled back and licked his lips offering her a cocky smile before quickly finding himself tackled once again. They tumbled until she was once more on top, eyes peering down at him with a fierce, hungry gaze. She wasted no time positioning herself above him before lowering herself down in one smooth move. She was tight, and wet, and warm and the sensation was overwhelming. She rode him with an almost expert level of skill and he took a moment to appreciate the way her ample breasts shook and rose and fell with their thrusts and girations. It was heated, it was passionate, it was nearly animalistic and he was addicted; meeting her movement for movement but finding it wasn’t enough. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With a growl, he rolled them over again, careful not to hurt her as he shifted their position to give him better access. He heard her chanting his name over and over in a desperate plea as he felt her walls spasm in her first release. He wasn’t done. Raising one of her legs over his shoulder, he began to piston into her deeper than before, burying himself inside her as far as he could with every thrust. He was close; his release built by the second as sweat dripped down the sides of his face. She was gasping, speechless, reduced to guttural groans of pleasure as he brought her closer to her second wave. It was amazing. It was hot and raw and-as his thrusts became more desperate-so did his need for release. Finally, with one last thrust, he buried himself to the base inside her, emptying himself as she too exploded in a mutual climax; the first of many that unexpected night...</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The fuck was I thinking…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled over and kicked off the covers, making his way to the shower in the hopes that the heat and steam would drive away the rest of the fog and help him puzzle through his next course of action. The soaps were all generically scented, clean but not overly obvious and he lathered it up. He took his time, letting the jets of hot water soothe his muscles and tried desperately to keep his mind off what had occurred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothy Catalonia had never been on his list of possible sexual partners. Never once had he considered the woman who skewered his best friend as an option for a one-night-stand and yet it had happened. Her cool eyes had dared him to comply; her body moved with pure feminine allure that called to his baser instincts which demanded to be heeded. And heed it he had. He remembered the way her silked skin felt under his tongue, the softness of her breasts yielded to his heated touch… the way she gasped his name over and over… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn it all!” He cursed and punched the shower wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a one-time thing. Not to be repeated. Never to be spoken of… still… being honest, he wouldn’t mind another go if the occasion arose… He shook himself and turned the water off, toweling dry quickly and efficiently before putting his clothes back on. How would he explain what happened to Quatre? He could tell him he had had too much to drink and simply stayed over. It wasn’t a lie. He had been truly drunk when they had reached his room… and he had slept over… It hardly mattered. Quatre knew Trowa was no stranger to one-night-stands and would most likely not care no matter who the other person had been. His friend had, in fact, encouraged him to try and find someone for a more meaningful, long-term arrangement…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Come on, Trowa. Don't you ever think about your future?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"My future is the same as my yesterday." Trowa shrugged and paused Quatre a beer and took a seat on the foldout couch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"But don't you ever want something more?" The blond man sat next to him. "Something more meaningful?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Quatre, I appreciate your concern, but my current situation suits me just fine."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"But Trowa-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Besides, you have your own love life to think of, Mr. Most Eligible Bachelor!" Quatre's cherks flushed and Trowa laughed. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His friend meant well, but he just didn't understand. As a carnie, a circus performer, his life was that of a wanderer; traveling around to perform wherever their circus received a booking. It was hardly an easy life to live, let alone ask someone to share with him. The life of a circus performer was a lonely one, but one he could live with. How many women would be willing to live like that: on the road, in a trailer, surrounded by society’s castaways? How could he ask someone to try?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just wouldn’t be fair.” He muttered to himself as he tied his shoes and made his way from the lavish room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cathy had been expecting him to return well before this and his absence would be noticed. He thought to look for Quatre before he left but decided against it. The Winner heir was most likely busy with his newfound love interest. He suddenly remembered once more why he had attended in the first place and whom it was he had initially wished to see. A sour feeling pooled in the pit of his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give it up,” He growled at himself as he strapped on his bike helmet. “It’s never gonna happen.” Though he knew it was true, the reality of it still stung as he kicked the stand of his motorcycle and drove off down the road, mind focused solely on the tasks that awaited him upon his return.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The smells of warm sugar and fresh popcorn mingled with fresh sawdust and straw as he took off his helmet and wheeled his bike into the port. It didn’t take long for Catheirne to find him, her brown hair bouncing as she ran up, a knowing smile on her face, eye dancing with mirth. She stopped short of him by a few feet and smiled wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome home, little brother.” He nodded to her and made his way past without offering a word. “So, how did the gala go last night? Pretty well, I take it since you never came home?” She followed him to his trailer and, for the first time since they reunited, he wished she would go away and leave him alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had too much to drink last night. I stayed over.” He walked to his vanity and grabbed the painkiller out of his drawer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure nothing happened last night?” she pressed in an almost sing-song voice. Trowa fought the urge to grimace. He loved his elder sister; he just hoped she would read his mood and go away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drop it, Cathy.” He took out a clean shirt and jeans from his wardrobe. “I need to get changed.” The look of shock on her face told him his tone had been a bit fierce, but he would make it up to her later. His head still pounded almost as much as his heart hurt and that was not the sort of combination that made anyone very chatty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, Mister,  but you at least owe me an explanation.” She put her hands on her hips in protest and stood her ground. “You know how much I worry about you.” Trowa felt that feeling in the pit of his stomach again. He turned to her then, eyes softened, brows furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Cathy, I promise. I just had a rough night and slept a bit late. Please don’t worry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Trowa…” She shook her head. “You’ve got to be more careful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Now, please, let me get dressed. I’m already behind enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know. And the Ringmaster is pretty cross about it. You better light a match under it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one that’s been slowing me down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah yeah! Just move it!” He tossed a shirt at her and she laughed, ducking out of the way. She made her way to the door, offered him one last smile and ducked out, leaving him to his thoughts. He made quick work of changing before making his way out to the lions and other animals. The list of things to do was long: muck their stalls, feed them and refill their water in a timely manner. The speed he finished them would have impressed anyone. The harder he worked, the easier it was to forget the events of the night before. Had seeing Relena so happy really affected him so much that he fell into bed with Dorothy? Was the alcohol to blame or his broken heart? Somewhere between the two, the lines became blurred enough to make it a possibility and then a reality. He Had spent the night with the Catalonia heiress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been enjoyable; very enjoyable indeed. He could still feel her soft flesh under him and hear her feminine moans of satisfaction as they continued their intimate interlude.. the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell with her effort-laden breathing. There had been something so raw about the way she had clung to him. She had mentioned something about the object of her intentions being unavailable as well…? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course…” </span>
  <span>It all made sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>S</span>
  <span>he had wanted Quatre. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trowa paused and wiped sweat off his brow, brushing his bangs out of his face. Dorothy had been just as disappointed as he had and needed a distraction from the pain just as much. The reasons behind their encounter hardly mattered. It had happened. It was over. He was back at work and needed to concentrate on his tasks. There was still a lot to do before his performance and he had little desire to disappoint his fans because his mind refused to return to where it needed to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the last of his jobs were finished, he grabbed a bite to eat. The headache from his hangover had yet to fully subside and he wondered if it was the fact that he had forgotten to eat anything both the night before and the morning after. As he warmed up some of the leftovers from the noontime lunch, he made sure to pop a few more painkillers and down them with some flavored sports drink. The bitter, orange-flavored liquid washed down the stew with ease and returned some much needed hydration to his exhausted body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to prpare for the performance and the best way to do that was to get all other distractions out of his way. He checked the equipment of the hirewire and the trapeze and made sure not a single nut, bolt, or rope was out of line or loose. He returned to his trailer briefly for a nap in the hopes of recuperating some of the sleep he had lost but he kept seeing her grey-blue eyes clouded with that strange look… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn it.” He sat up and ran a frustrated hand though his bangs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sleep being impossible, he took a shower instead, allowing the water to wash away the grime from his chores. The heat and steam seemed to help with his head this time, easing the left over tension and giving him some respite from the throbbing. As he toweled off and pulled on his trademark green pants and suspenders, he looked into the mirror to apply his pancake make-up before grabbing his mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trowa, come on! We’re on in ten minutes!” Catherine called into him. He frowned, though unsure why as he made his way to the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The roar of the crowd nearly covered up the ringmaster’s announcement of their act as he and Cathy made their way into the ring. As always the brightness of the spotlights followed their every move. The knife act was the first where he allowed himself to be spun as her knives flew and hit with a dull thud on the wooden wheel in various spots around him. The crowd was relatively hushed for this one. It never ceased to amaze him how their fear of Catherine accidentally getting him with her knives seemed greater than when he faced down the lions and tigers in his solo performance. They had no way of knowing Trowa had practically raised the large jungle cats and therefore no way of seeing how little danger he truly was in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sawdust crunched under his every move as the smoke and flashes of the special effects dazzled and confused and pulled attention to the right places at the right times. Sulfur, sawdust, and adrenaline made up most of his night as he jumped from one animal to the net seeming to nearly avoid the jaws of one large predator only to narrowly escape the claws of another. He could hear the woman scream and the men gasp as even they had been impressed. Trowa smirked. He never tired of the crowd’s reaction; the livelier they were, the stronger he felt about giving his all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never second-guessed himself. He never had to. It was all routine; practiced and perfected and executed with expert skill. This was his element. This was where he belonged. He could never have made Relena happy. He would never have fit in her world. He felt his hand falter for nearly a moment at that thought earning him a collective cry from the crowd before he quickly recovered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No good.’ He regained his composer and finished his routine before taking his spot on the trapeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cathy waited on the other side and on the signal of the musical cue they jumped and grabbed the first loop on the rig. He spun and swung and switched to the next, their path crossing but never meeting. He grabbed one of the swings as Catherine found the end and sat down. Using just the force of his muscles, he moved the back and forth, Catherine slowly making it to her feet before Trowa maneuvered to put her on his shoulders. Together, they made their move to another part of the rig where she swung and jumped, landing with ease. He did the same, giving an added full-body spin and landing on the opposite side of the tightrope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were nearing the end of the routine. He flipped and jumped around and over her, hanging and swinging using her as a counterpoint to base his targeted landing while she continued to walk, perfectly balanced. In one final move, they both jumped into the air. He caught her and placed her on his shoulder, before both gave a perfectly balanced bow of their own. The rokus cheer of the crowd spoke to their success.As they climbed down behind the curtain, however, he could feel his sister's eyes on him, boring into his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trowa…” He stopped and grabbed a towel, rubbing some of the sweat off of his face, not looking at her. “Hey,” Again, he refused to look at her. “What was that in there? Something’s been off since you got back from that gala.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drop it, Cathy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this because of Relena? I knew you shouldn’t have gone. You know how seeing her makes you feel.” She reached for him and he pulled away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about that. Just leave it alone, ok?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, Trowa-” Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the approach of their fans. He turned away from her in time to see the available women and excited children show up for autographs and perhaps a bit more. He could feel Catherine’s disappointed gaze behind him but shrugged that off too. His sister meant well, but there was little she could do for him beyond offer sympathetic words and he needed those even less than another hangover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the crowd slowly began to fade, his partner for the evening made herself obvious. She was a cute brunette, straight hair, dark eyes and caramel skin. She smelled of raspberries and honey. Her long lashes batted at him suggestively and as he escorted her into his trailer for a few drinks and single night of fun, he couldn’t help but feel an ounce of regret. She predictably laughed at jokes he knew weren't funny and even at a few comments that weren’t jokes at all. She was too easily amused and it irked him, but her kisses tasted like cotton candy and popcorn butter and-aided by some booze they shared-quickly forced the regret and any feelings other than that of the desire for completion out of his mind as they fell onto his bed and into a night of pleasurable oblivion.</span>
</p>
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